


Bound

by lokidreamsinbw



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Burns, Death, Grief, High School, M/M, Magic, Piercings, Shooting, Soulmates, Zip Ties, all thorki, could be a bit of incest in bound, little collection of stories, loki loves lip balm, mentions of sexual abuse, the gift of freedom, these are kind of AU, these are kind of dark, underage sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokidreamsinbw/pseuds/lokidreamsinbw
Summary: 1. Black Candle (Haunt Me): Loki buys a black candle to summon the spirit of his dead lover.2. Bound (Unbind Me): Loki loved many things. He loved Thor. And he loved zip ties.3. Visage (Offer Me): When Thor turns eighteen, his father gives him a pet Jotun.4. Cherries (Quiet Me): Loki asks Thor for cherries.5. The Mask (Remember Me): Loki finds an old mask in The Teutoburg Forest.6. The Astronomer (Tell Me): Thor buys Loki a notebook before he moves away with his dad. They use that notebook to communicate with each other after Thor is gone. Highschool AU. Loki's POV.7.  Flower (Love Me): Loki looks for a flower inside the forest. Thor's POV. A fluffy one!8. The Heart Is Flexible: Thor pierces Loki's ear and tells him all about this thing called piercer crush. (this one is just a fun one!)9. Lostheart: Prostitue Loki. A little bit of ocean and skinny jeans.10. Footprints in the Snow. Lonely Thor creates a beautiful ice prince.11. no lie monday: Loki and Thor try a little something new. Handcuffs mention!12. Thor piecres Loki's nipple. AU.13. Photographer!thor Model!loki. AU.14. prostitute!loki / pimp!thor. AU.





	1. Black Candle (Haunt Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Golikethat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golikethat/gifts).



> This little story was written for a prompt "haunt me" in which one character haunts the other. 
> 
> Dedicating this to you, my love.
> 
> writernotwaiting wrote a gorgeous poem inspired by chapter 10 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524119

Loki is carrying a black candle in his hands and a cheap clear lighter in the pocket of his jeans. 

He has no shoes on; summer is blooming like a sunflower outside but inside the house the air is barely moving and it's cooler there and the early afternoon shadows add this blurriness and softness to everything and the floorboards feel like running water under his bare feet, like he's crossing a shallow river and the rivulets part his toes and make his ankles feel as if they're encased in metal. 

He's been wandering from one room to the other for about an hour now, with the ghostly exhales of the house sticking to the back of his neck and the candle nestled between his palms, eyes moving over carpets and mats and pillows and the wet shine of wood, looking for that spot which will feel right, the spot that will be willing to carry the weight of his body and the weight of the small triangular-shaped flame that will soon be balancing on the tip of a sleepy cotton braided candlewick , and the weight of a loved memory, as light as a passing morning fog. He'd been wandering and watching the stillness of a t-shirt dangling from a hanger inside the shadowed space of a closet, the twinkle of a set of keys found on the kitchen counter, the matte skeleton of a pair of earphones resting on a shelf, the froth-colored wick cool and limp near his fingers. He'd been wandering and going from one room to another felt like a journey and each room felt hollow, each room felt like a chasm and the whisper of the fabric of Loki's jeans and the soft thumps of his feet on the floorboards were like tiny stone particles coming apart from the wall of some cave, forever disturbing the earthly silence within it. 

And there's the face of the man who sold him the candle in his head, one of his old eyes was inflamed and the line of infection starting from the tear-ducts and ending right at the corner of the eye, top and bottom lids affected, looked like a ring of fire, the skin red and throbbing, seeming hot to the touch. 

"Bones," the old man said to him and tapped one of the black cylinder-shaped candles standing there on the counter with the tip of a brittle fingernail, "that's what they say they're made of. Clavicles and pointy ribs, sternums as tough as the devil's horns. Fistfuls of earth and burnt coffin-wood. And the wicks?"

The old man squeezed his eye shut and ran a thumb over that raised line, mashing the lashes, making some point down and the others stick up, "dried tears, fallen from grieving eyes and left to dry in the sun near a freshly-dug grave."

"Candles for remembrance," Loki said and the man's thumb came back wet and his lashes were sticky.

"No," he said, "candles to summon the dead."

The old man didn't have any lighters there in his little airy shop full of old books and hushed whispers, so Loki bought one from a convenience store instead. He asked for matches but they ran out.

He didn't take the bus home, he walked instead and the sun hitting the black plastic bag made it feel like it was on fire and the fingers it dangled from ached and felt like they were going to blister.

When he made it home, his cheeks were flushed and his arms were covered with a thin layer of sweat. He put the bag on the kitchen table, filled a tall glass with water and when the water was all gone filled it again, and with the sensation of the cool liquid sticking to his top lip, he watched the light playing like a child in the backyard, chasing the purple shadows away.

With the glass still in his hand, he tested the lighter. One flick of his thumb and the ignition button went down and the flame appeared. It wasn't a slow climb, it was a full unexpected bloom, like a flower growing on film that's all sped up; one moment it wasn't there and the next it was and it was beautiful.

Loki held the button down until his thumb started to send surges of burning pain up his wrist and he took his thumb off once he realized all the gas might run out. The vibrant flame got sucked back inside and Loki's fingers still felt warm long after it was all gone and it was like watching a tree going back into the ground after it soared and Loki raised the lighter, held it up and watched the backyard through the liquefied gas swishing from side to side inside the plastic container; it dragged trees to the side, tugged on the grass until it got sky-high, and made the flowers look like running rivers of pink.

And maybe the memory of how the yard looked through the swishy liquid and the plastic is what makes him decide to head out there.

The damp caress of clumped-together blades of grass on his bare feet has Loki realizing he traversed the entire house, all the way from the top floor where their bedroom used to be, to the back door, and out into the yard without even noticing it, the only reminder of the passage of time the weight of the candle luring gravity particles to it, having them stick to its body like pollen to the stem of a flower.

He leaves the door open and inside the shadows gather like unused furniture, and there's a light wind pushing his hair away from his shoulders and he walks over to the same spot he could see from the window earlier and sits down. 

The sun leaves sharp cracks of light on the windows and the kitchen cabinets are covered with shadows and even though the door is wide open there's this feeling inside him that once he'll try walking back in he won't be able to.

Loki crosses his legs and his hair falls over his shoulders. Bursts of wind that start small end up drawn out like a scarf that has no beginning and no end, arrive from behind him and lick the grass, making it stick to the ground. The flowers there grow so close together they look like a splotch of fuchsia and there's a path there, cutting through all that green like a single undulating brush stroke and Loki's fingers wish to close softly around a passing ankle. 

He puts the candle in his lap, close to the crook of his knee and takes out the lighter. The liquefied gas sings inside and Loki's sweaty hands make holding it feel impossible.

Loki picks up the candle and it feels like lifting a boulder and he blows on the wick to make it stand straight. The wick straightens its spine like a flag pulled by the wind, and Loki holds the lighter close to it and flicks the switch. 

The flame jumps out and wraps itself around the wick like a serpent around a tree and the wick trembles when the flame drags it upright. Loki relieves the pressure of his thumb and the flame splits in two, one flame keeps burning and the other one, originating from the lighter, dies without making a sound. 

When Loki took his wallet out to pay the old man, he asked him if the candle was scented and the old man said no, but once the flame licks the wax and heats it up, the air is filled with the rich scent of wet earth. 

Loki puts the lighter on the ground and balances the candle on top of it. And there's this thing flames do, quiver for a few moment around the wick until they find their balance and Loki watches it until it turns as stable as a ray of light slanting across tiles.

It's funny how something as powerful as a flame doesn't really make a sound. It's always the wood you feed it with that splits and cracks and movement gives it voice and makes it hiss.

And Loki thinks that on this very same day, three years ago, he was invited to a friend's house. It wasn't just the two of them there, it was this group of people he didn't know and while his friend and himself felt content just passing hours inside the house while the summer sky fills with stars, the others got bored and so all of them ended up outside. 

That faceless crowd grabbed all the food and alcohol they could find and made their way into the cool little forest breathing quietly not too far from the house. The lights in the windows grew smaller and fainter as they went deeper and deeper into the woods with Loki always looking over his shoulder until he couldn't see them anymore. The shadows sticking to prickly bushes and inky-colored tree trunks inched away from the harsh lights coming from all those phones and the darkness was soon disturbed by a bonfire that started small but grew to monstrous proportions, red glow erupting from it in huge airy waves that made the shadows become all weird and made the trees look as if they were smiling. 

Time passed and all Loki could focus on were small things close to him; the way the fire made the thin skin of his palms look orange, the silvery blink of foil paper sticking to a few tablets of bitter smelling chocolate, and the light playing off a glass soda bottle resting on its side near someone's green backpack.

And the thing is, you sit somewhere quiet and unmoving for a prolonged period of time, someone's bound to notice you. And someone did notice him. A beautiful stranger that sat close to him and his body felt so warm it felt like it held all the sunrises and bonfires in the world inside it. It was love that has found Loki by that hellish bonfire that night. The flames birthed the man he grew to love, and the flames, years later, were also the ones that took him away.

And Loki sits there and watches it with his lashes damp and his throat closing up and his fingers red and the flame takes bites out of the wick and makes the wax run and drip but the sun never changes its spot in the sky, it's only the candle that's getting shorter and shorter and the flame makes his eyes scratchy and glassy and it's that silence all around him and the absence of those footsteps moving across the trail that makes him draw a big breath in, hold it for a second and then push it out with great force through pursed lips. 

That arrow of air hits the flame and on its way to the ground takes the flame with it. The flame stretches and stretches until it touches the grass and then it sets it on fire. 

Loki sucks a huge breath in until his lungs feel full and bends forward and blows again. The new flame bends over and licks another clump of grass and paints it vivid orange.

Another breath in.

Out.

In.

Out.

And the fire spreads.

The flames devour the flowers, make the wooden bench crack and groan and smoke but the paved trail is left untouched with its shiny soft stones.

And Loki blinks, pupils wide, lips parted, shoulders rising and falling so quick, chest heaving and he has no more air left in him and the wind lends a helping hand, swooping from behind him, crushing through the flames and makes them rage with the fresh supply of oxygen.

The wood splits and burning petals swirl in the air and the heat rushing towards him gets under his shirt and sticks to his skin and makes the peaks of his cheeks blaze pink. And the fire grows so tall it feels like it's about to touch the sky and the wind blows and stirs the fire and the flames have a thousand faces and a thousand forms, taking the shape of a street, the shape of a pair of hands, the shape of a slow growing smile. 

And then, a creak. The sound of the gates, covered in flowers, leading to the backyard, opening by an unseen hand and a gust of wind moves the flames and through all those whispers and crackling noises there's the sound of footsteps and a form steps out of the fire. 

Then, arms around him, a timeless embrace and Loki can't even feel the burn. One arm around his shoulders, one large, loving palm cradling the back of his head and the black candle between them blowing a thin trail of grayish smoke to the heavens. 

Loki smiles and with the flames raging like monsters around them, closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, the air is cool; the flowers bloom pink and the bench bathes in the sun and the pale green grass plays with the afternoon shadows.

There's a black candle burning, balancing on a lighter resting on the ground, flame steady, its heart a shocking shade of blue.

Loki's fingers are red. 

And on the back of his neck an itchy feeling; five finger-shaped burns on his pale white skin.


	2. Bound (Unbind Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for you ravenbringslight! I hope you like it and it's not too dark.
> 
> Beautiful beautiful painting by the most amazing golikethatcat on tumblr: https://golikethatcat.tumblr.com/  
> (I'll never stop loving it, I'M IN LOVE!)

My parents adopted Loki when he was seventeen.

No one at the shelter really knew what happened to him because Loki wasn't talking. The only thing we did find out a bit later was that his idiot of a dad killed himself when Loki was fifteen and that Loki, not having any relatives that useless police could track down, kept switching houses afterwards, living with one fucked up family and then with another for like two months or three and then being moved again, because all those families, they were shit. The things that go on in people's houses, that's something you never really want to know about. Some people are fucking sick and the things these kids see it's worse than all those torture porn movies you catch on TV. And all those things you witness, they never really leave your mind; they kinda pile up and they turn into this crooked tower that's casting a shadow over your heart always, not letting any sun in. One floor of that tower is for the empty syringes you find next to the sink with all that dried blood sticking to the needle like sawdust; another one's for that uncle with the fucking limp who pushes the mouth of his gun under your chin forcing your head back because he's sure that thing you said to him just now counts as talking back at him or something; and one's for the tip of that boot that's always seeking those hollow areas between your ribs, stubborn as fuck.

I was there the day mom and dad drove over to the shelter to pick him up. One of the workers walked him out, guiding him a bit with a hand on his shoulder. I can still see everything, it's like the image is burned to my mind, this thin guy the same age as me and that crazy contrast between that shoulder-length black hair and that white t-shirt he was wearing, every bone sticking out: cheekbones, elbows, knuckles, clavicles. That haunted look in his eyes. Mom was standing near our car, torn between wanting to rush over and hug him or just give him his space, and dad was watching her with his hands jammed in his pockets, car keys jangling, silver hair looking like metal in the light. I was sitting in the back, the door open, earphones blasting music straight to my brain and I remember it was Blue Jeans and when the line "I'll love you 'till the end of time" came up our eyes met and those eyes of his became the landscape of my heart forever, those grey skies the sun can never lay its hands on.

And there's all those like, polaroids, of him in my mind; sitting on the front stairs and doing his homework with the light of the sun rising casting this orange glow on the pages; looking in the mirror and running his fingers through his wet hair, his thin leather bracelets sliding down his slim wrists; lying beneath me on his bed and reaching up with his palm to touch my face.

There were things Loki loved: like half sitting, half lying on the windowsill, listening to music with his eyes closed, wind moving his hair, one arm and one leg hanging over the ledge, dangling lifeless in the air; walking barefoot all over town in the summertime and coming back home with sticky fox-red blood glueing his toes together; my fingers moving over his lips over and over again, soft, our bellies pressed tight together, his knee nudging against my ribs; and zip ties.

Dad always had zip ties lying around; he'd use them to fasten cords and wires together so they won't get all over the place, and put them on his bicycle's tires when it snowed. You could find one or two at any given time on the kitchen counter or in the living room, but he used to keep most of them in the garage.

There was this one time during dinner when dad asked me if I'd taken some because a bunch was missing. He asked me cause you can fix so much stuff with these and I was always good with my hands. But it wasn't me. Loki, however, put his fork down really quiet and brought his hands right under the table. I was sitting right next to him and managed to catch a glimpse of his hands before they went under; both of his bony wrists had these thin cuts on them, running all around the wrist, wavering over the veins, and there were tiny-tiny dots of dried blood in them looking like black pinpricks.

I nudged his elbow and he looked away.

After mom and dad went to sleep I went into his room. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed and the room was dark. I turned the bed light on and got on my knees before him. He gave me his hands before I even got a chance to ask him to do it for me. And there was his pulse there under my thumbs and his palms were facing up and his fingernails were as thin as a whisper and those scratches looked like cracks running through glass and I shifted my weight and ran my fingers over them.

"Where do you keep them?" I asked and Loki motioned with his chin to a drawer.

And there it was, this little pile of crisp-white zip ties and they crackled when I touched them.

And Loki's wrists moved in my grip. He crossed his wrists so both palms were facing up and they looked like a pair of wings. And he looked me in the eye and I knew what he wanted.

I took one zip tie and ran it through my fist and looked at Loki's outstretched wrists. I moved closer and his eyes were on me when I fastened it around his wrists, moving the plastic strap through the locking mechanism and watching that white circle getting smaller and smaller as I tightened it.

And I raised my eyes and there were shadows under Loki's bottom lip, on the side of his nose, under his brow, right behind his ear and I didn't want to hurt him so I kept it loose. He could have pulled his wrists out easily but he wanted it tighter and when I didn't want to do it he grabbed the strap between his teeth and tugged hard. I tried to stop him but the plastic was already cutting into his skin and the fabric of his jeans whispered when he unfolded his long legs, spread them for me and lay on his back, pulling his bound wrists close to his chest.

I covered his body with mine and ran my palms under his shirt, the heel of my hand sliding up his flat belly, fingers pausing to rest over his heart. He couldn't touch my face with his wrists bound like that, but he closed his fingers around mine through the fabric of his shirt and pressed my palm flat on his chest and the strength of his heart beating made both our hands shake.

Those zip ties became part of our lives. I can't tell you how many times I've bound Loki's wrists in the dark. Sometimes he'd keep the inner part of his wrists pressed together and curl his hands into fists; other times he'd fold his hands like a man who's about to pray; sometimes it'd be the backs of his hands pressing against each other, fingers pointing out; and sometimes it'd be his hands forming an 'X' , tucked under his chin, his black hair spilling like a river over the pale pillows under his head.

And I'd love him and watch the plastic shining between our bodies in the moonlight and afterwards he'd hug my neck with his wrists still bound and I'd feel his wet lashes against my shoulder and I'd ask him what's wrong but he'd never say. He never told me.

He never told me, until one day he did.

With his lips pressed to my ear, his weight on my lap and his bound wrists linked behind my neck, he told me everything and my arms wrapped tighter around him and my heart wept for him in all that darkness and I rocked him in my arms and that plastic strap felt as cold as a shadow on the back of my neck.

And I cut it with a pair of scissors and then got a new one out of the drawer. I linked our fingers together and fastened the zip tie around our wrists and there was Loki's pulse there pressing against mine and there were our veins joined, running like blue rivers under the light of the sun in a silent forest, and there were our hearts beating together in the silence of the night.

Loki was always alone in this.

He'll never be alone in this again.


	3. Visage (Offer Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Thor turns eighteen, his father gives him a pet Jotun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for the awesome ravenbringslight!

When I turned eighteen, my father gave me a pet Jotun. His name was Loki. The Jotuns, they migrate, just like birds do, when their treacherous land turns too cold and steals the life away from their lips in their sleep, in that point when all dreams turn to black and vibrate with a melodious silence. He fled Jotunheim with his mother, who perished on the fourth day. Loki was captured two days later and was sent to be sold on our markets as a slave. My father told me that the men who captured him said his black-black lashes were coated with frost clear as water and that the breath of winter itself escaped from his lips and turned their hearts cold and lonely. 

“My lonely boy,” my father said to me, “gone for hours on end with only the skies and the hushed fields to keep you company, only the lakes to reflect your smile, only the caves to echo your laughter. One must never journey through this life alone. Therefore I gift you with a living heart, one you can share your thoughts and memories with. Close he is to your age, and he cannot judge, for he does not speak our language. Teach him, if you so wish, yet remember this: once you gift him with the gift of language, he may ask things of you that you will not wish to give. He may ask for the gift of freedom, my son. What will you do then?”

I loved roaming the fields of our beautiful lands, gathering pollen on my lashes and soft petals on my shoulders, tricking servants sent after me to fetch me back to the palace, making myself invisible to them in all those never-ending fields of wheat glittering like gold in the light, and arriving at the gates just before the sun goes down, breath tickly in my throat, ankles blazing red and sore, the sunlight still sticking to the sides of my neck. I was always alone, but then I had Loki and I took him everywhere I went. I’d watch the shadows of the branches paint ancient tales over the pale skin of his shoulders and arms, I’d feel the ends of his black tunic getting caught in the wind and brushing the sensitive skin of my calves, I’d listen to the sound the flowers would omit when he’d brush them with his fingertips and tip them over like a crumbling tower just to gently push them the other way and have them stand upright again, and I’d study his eyes as they’d touch with their gaze a ray of light fallen over a coarse tree bark, the airy wings of a butterfly caught in the breeze, the corner of a soon to be purple sky closing around a silver half-moon.

Two years later, father had sent me to Midgard, a short stay, to learn the ways of those I was destined to protect. Loki came with me and we found a place to stay, a little apartment, squeezed between so many other grey buildings it was impossible to see the sky. I’d find Loki sitting on the windowsill , his legs crossed, the vertebras visible through the thin fabric of the t-shirts he’d wear, his face turned up, lashes longing to feel the touch of a breeze upon them, eyes missing those shades of blue, and other shades, darker, of times long gone.

We’d walk the streets whenever we could. Loki couldn’t bear staying indoors in the summer. We’d walk side by side, shoulders touching, his gentle silence an entire dialogue between us. The language of Asgard was soft and silky in his mouth, yet he felt uneasy speaking the words. They felt different to him, so unlike the heavy and sharp rhythm of the language they spoke in Jotunheim. So we invented our own language without even knowing it, a language invented by the passage of time and our need to know each other’s hearts. He’d see something and he’d look at me and I’d know what that thing meant to him, how it caressed his heart and left traces there. He’d smile and I’d know if it was a playful smile, shy, happy or melancholy, that smile you give someone when your heart feels like it bears the weight of the entire world yet you don’t want that someone to know how much it hurts.

We’d visit stores and he’d touch whatever he could, lips parted, blinking softly, fingers trailing over vases, books, picture frames and plastic roses.

It was on one of our trips to one store or another one summer’s day when I found him admiring a little tube of lip balm. The tube was made of the thinnest plastic and was light silver. Inside, the lip balm itself was pale-blue. The name printed on it was visage. It smelled like flowers and Loki had his eyes closed, peach colored lids gently covering pale irises lost in memories.

I stood next to him under the harsh neon lights and searched his face. He felt me looking at him and opened his eyes, fingers lightly closing around the sleek tube.

“This made you remember something. The smell of it. I could see it in your face,” I said quietly, “what did you remember?”

And Loki held the tube pressed to his palm with his thumb so he could gesticulate and used both hands to form flowers. And his fingers moving, along with the lights, left silvery imprints of petals in the air.

He let his hands fall slowly and his next blink was sad. He looked down and when he raised his eyes to me again, there was a tiny raise to his eyebrows and he rolled the little tube in his palm with his fingertips and I knew what he asking.

“Sure, we can get this,” I said and he pressed his lips together with glee.

He’d wear it all the time. It would make his lips look wet and cool and if the light hit at the right angle one could see the tiny freckles of silver embedded in the airy texture of the balm. It kept his lips protected from the heat and when the fall arrived, we got him another one, it was the last one they had left and we almost couldn’t find it.

When fall would arrive, Loki’s hair would begin to grow at an alarming rate. It always happened. It would go from shoulder-length to touching his hipbones in under a month. It was his kind’s way of getting ready for the cruel winds and bone-chilling cold of the winter in Jotunheim. When we were living in Asgard, I’d chop it off with my dagger. There, on Midgard I’d use a pair of scissors. The blades would flash again and again and little by little I’d start to see his vertebras and then the back of his neck. It always pained me to do this, but brushing it in the mornings was hard for him and without words he’d ask for my help.

When it’d get cold, he’d sleep for hours on end. When he’d be awake, I’d find him in that same spot on the windowsill, looking for the skies. And when it would get dark and I’d go to sleep, he’d sit on the floor, uncap the lip balm and draw on the walls. The lip balm had a bit of a tint to it and Loki would draw with the sweet taste of it on his lips and the sugary scent of it in his lungs; he’d draw crooked trees and fragile lakes, flowers growing on stones and mountains dusted with sleep, the Jotunheim he so missed. They’d all be gone by morning; he would use the inner part of his wrist to wipe everything off but the scent would linger and fill my heart with sadness.

My father was right. Loki never voiced it with words, but the time came when he had asked me for the gift of freedom. And as much as I loved him, I could not refuse giving it to him.

On a lonely white hill in the heart of Jotunheim, we said goodbye. To this day, I still remember the sight of his long black hair dancing in the wind and the taste of the beautiful flowers of Jotunheim on my lips.


	4. Cherries (Quiet Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki asks Thor for cherries (Quiet Me).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ravenbringslight! This was supposed to be a Quiet Me, but all I ended up with is silence.  
> There's suicide in this one, just making sure it's in the notes so one can skip this fic if one doesn't like to read about suicide.

One day, Loki asked me for cherries.

He hasn't said a word in weeks. It was spring and he'd sit outside all day in this spot where there used to be a set of stone steps lodged into this tiny hill. There was this one tree there but it was standing crooked; its roots were exposed on the one side, looking like a giant spider's web. No one really knew why but the tree getting almost ripped out caused the steps to crumble. Down they went, like a tower collapsing, exposing these ugly dents and cracks in the earth, filled with tiny ants, their sleek backs glinting in the sunlight. 

Sometimes I'd walk over and sit near him; there'd be times I'd fill all this silence with all the words I had in me, talk until my throat would feel scratchy and my lungs tired; other times I'd stay silent and listen to the wind moving his light green tunic, feel all the weight and warmth of his knee pressing against mine, watch the complicated dance of the black straps of his sandal winding themselves around a silent ankle.

Sometimes I'd just watch from afar. The tree's shadow will move, lazy and heavy across the ground, and at some point in the day, it would fall over Loki and swallow him whole; and in that absence of him the constant humming of the bugs moving their airy wings so fast you can't even see them flying past, and that soft rush of wind moving through the grass and that delightful flutter of a leaf falling from a branch and twirling in the air, I'd hear them all so loud in my head, so clear, and wait with bated breath for that shadow to move again, to catch a glimpse of a pale elbow, of that black hair that sweep of darkness has turned cool and silky.

The shadow would shift and the light would embrace him and I'd know he'd wish to follow that long, whispering shadow everywhere.

Loss had a way of sealing his lips, of bringing silence to where there were once words. He grieved for his brother Helblindi the same way, and then he grieved for our mother. It was a different kind of silence, though; for Helblindi his silence was filled with longing for the brother he'd never met, only heard about from stories and letters sent to Asgard smelling of frost and written in blue ink; for our mother, Loki's silence was filled with guilt.

Loki's silence lasted for four weeks, filling my mind with lonely images of beady ants marching in a row, fine knuckles blazing red from the sunlight, and the almost inaudible flutter of light green fabric. 

Then, Loki asked me for cherries. We were sitting out there under that tree, following the journey of the sun across all that white light, with the wind moving over our knees and the backs of our hands and I haven't even noticed that spot in the corner of my eye getting darker and darker as the day traveled on. When I turned my head to look at Loki sitting to my left, that's when I noticed he was sitting in that column of darkness, and I was sitting in the light still. I could feel how cool it was, that shadow, how damp and drafty; it was inching closer to me and my right arm and leg felt like they were on fire. 

And I remembered mother taking us both to the orchard come spring. She'd let me eat as many cherries as I wanted, but would always watch Loki and tell him to stop whenever she'd think he'd had enough.

And I thought: the cherries remind him of her. And I thought of the way she'd offer her palms to us and they'd be filled with wine colored cherries, and they'd catch the light and it would look like she was holding a beautiful fantasy there in her hands.

And when the memories faded away like soft morning fog, I told Loki yes, and hadn't noticed that the shadow had moved slow and quiet and swallowed us both.

I took Loki to the orchard that day. We walked for a while, our shoulders touching, the hills all around us with their dusty colors, the sun warming the back of our necks, the golden ornaments stitched to the fabric covering Loki's shoulders catching the light and casting bright glittery spots on the grass and on my arms. 

In the orchard, the air was cooler and smelled sweet. Loki's tunic was painted with shadows. The trees were short, and the grass felt cold and it felt like we were moving through a shallow stream, leading all the way into the heart of some forest. The branches were hanging low, the weight of the cherries pulling them downwards, and it was so easy to reach up and pick them, one only had to choose those he liked best, but none of them had any blemish so choosing was easier or harder, it depended on the way you chose to look at it. 

I watched Loki reaching with his fingers; they were pale and thin and they were gentle when he picked the cherries. The shadows of the branches sketched a pattern over his upturned face, slashing a black line over his lips and splitting them right in the middle. 

All the cherries I picked, I picked for him. I was not hungry, but I wanted him to eat and fill his heart with joy. We picked until our hands were full and then we lay on the grass. 

I offered Loki my palm full of cherries and watched him take one. He ripped the stem out, split it right down the middle and took out the pit. There was red there under his fingernails and he put one half into his mouth and then the other, his eyes never leaving mine. When his teeth crushed that soft flesh, the sweet juice soaked through the cracks in his lips and tainted them dark burgundy. 

The sun traveled high in the sky and Loki's mouth got redder and redder. Whenever I'd feel his fingers brushing my palm I'd reach over to where we placed all the cherries we'd picked and fill it again and watch him bite and chew and swallow and his fingers would reach in and remove those dark pits and his teeth would flash white, and I'd watch his tongue now the bright color of blood moving in his mouth, lapping all that sweetness up. 

How hadn't I noticed the light in his eyes slowly but steadily, dimming?

How hadn't I noticed the rise and fall of his chest becoming so gentle, barely able to lift the light fabric of that tunic with each one of his breaths? 

He was looking at me and drifting away, mouth red, eyes glassy and the shadows were moving over his skin, soft and light, as thin as those cherry stems and I never realized mother would watch Loki for a reason. She'd count the cherries. She'd tell him to stop at a certain number. I never knew why. Loki never knew why, until he did, and me getting to eat all I wanted would make him cry when we were small because he couldn't do the same. 

We didn't know she was only looking after him. Cherries are poisonous for his kind; only a certain amount is allowed for consumption. Mother knew how many he was allowed to have. I didn't. 

I still stand outside and watch that crooked tree standing there by the steps. At noon, I wait for the shadow to shift. I wait to see that pale elbow, that pale green tunic. I wait, and my ears are filled with sound.


	5. The Mask (Remember Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds an old mask inside The Teutoburg Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this after seeing the tumblr prompt "Remember Me" where one character helps another remember something and wanted to to a little reincarnation one.

They say finding a mask inside The Teutoburg Forest is quite rare. So When Loki and his parents joined the rest of the group and ventured into the forest, following their balding tour guide, Loki didn't really expect to find one. Except he did. 

It was sunny when they went it. The skies were clear and Loki rolled the sleeves of his leather jacket up until they reached his elbows. He zipped the jacket all the way up when they got ready to leave the hotel because his dad took one look outside and said that everything looks so grey out there it has to be chilly but it wasn't. It was warm inside the bus and Loki took the jacket off for a while and kept it on his knees, but when they all spotted those dark treetops inching closer to the large windows he put it back on and he heard his dad's voice over the music swaying in his ears going 'good call'. It was still warm when they stepped out of the bus and by the time they were walking around the Hermann Monument soaking in all those details about the war chief Arminius defeating three Roman legions under Varus in 9 CE, his hair felt like it was beginning to stick to the back of his neck and his cheeks got all red. 

They had their lunch there in the shade of some trees with that 175.3 ft tall monument standing motionless in the sun and Loki watched the shadows catching in all the right places, clinging to the crook of Arminius' elbow, to the folds of skin right above his knees, and covering his eyes and Loki couldn't see them at all. Arminius was wielding a sword, pointing it at the sun and half of it was light and the other half was shadow. 

His mom and dad kept taking pictures of it while sharing a cigarette and it wasn't long before Loki started toying with his phone, shuffling through all that music with the glare of the sun making his eyes all itchy and watery, forcing him to squint, touching the light colored birthmark resting there over his heart because sometimes it got all tender. He loved everything history related, but this monument with all its shadows and hot copper plates made him feel uneasy. So when their tour guide made sure no one left a single plastic bag or fork or some kind of wrapper lying around and said it's time to go Loki jumped to his feet so fast his parents gave him a look and he only shrugged, took his earphones out and stuffed them in his pocket along with his phone. 

The Hermann Monument is located on a tiny hill and their little group of maybe twenty or so had to make its way down and retrace its steps in order to get back to their tiny bus where the seats were so crowded there was no way you could just sit there without having your shoulders pressing against the shoulders of those sitting to your left and right.

Loki hadn't really noticed when it started to get cold; it felt like it was really warm until suddenly it wasn't and he found himself tugging on the sleeves of his jacket , bringing them down to his wrists and zipping the jacket up. 

This light breeze came out of nowhere and when it moved over his cheeks it felt like glass dust. Loki paused for a moment and looked up. The sun was almost gone and the trees along the path were whispering in soft female voices that made the hairs on Loki's arms stand on end. 

"Loki!"

It was his mom and his dad was standing next to her with one hand in his pocket motioning for him to catch up because he was day dreaming again and it wasn't exactly this new thing.

This time Loki was grateful for the warmth inside the tour bus and spent the following hour and a half sitting there with his earphones on but he wasn't listening to music or to an audiobook, he just had them on so his mom and dad won't bother him because that view of those tall trees just turning into a soft blur of green and grey and brown with the speed and time passing it by just had him captivated and he couldn't and didn't want to look away. 

It was supposed to be just this little peek into the area inside The Teutoburg Forest where Arminius' men slaughtered three Roman legions sent by the Emperor Augustus and led by Varus to cross the Rhine and conquer the lands. With Melville the tour guide leading the way, they left the bus behind and ventured deeper into the forest, following what Melville believed was the path the Romans took when they marched forward to their deaths. 

Loki's parents were more than a few steps ahead of Loki, talking, using that tone of voice people use when they converse about horrible things that happened a long time ago, sad, but also a little excited.

All forests are filled with silence but this one felt so quiet it made Loki's ears hurt and the trees were so pale they looked like endless columns of smoke and the yellowing grass reminded him of tiny sparks of fire jumping all over the place with the touch of some wind. 

An ambush, the tour guide said and Loki looked far ahead into the shadows and as he was walking slowly the wind was there to keep him company, smelling like old flowers and grey skies.

At some point he got so cold he had to stop and try to get the zipper to go all the way up. He watched it glinting bronze in the faint light, blinking between his fingers and tugged on it because for some reason it got stuck. He tugged on it and pulled, yanking it up and down and then up again, trying to get it to run smoothly and when it finally did and he felt the collar embracing his neck so it felt all nice and warm, he looked up and found himself alone. 

No mom and dad. No tour guide. No people he didn't take the time to actually try and see what their faces looked like. Everyone was gone and for some reason he wasn't afraid. 

He started walking, stepping on long fragile shadows, the cool breeze moving his lashes, sticking to his lips, making his hair all sleek and soft and at some point it started to rain, soft and lazy. The forest breathed around him and each exhale moved him forward and moving through the rustling grass and the pale light made him lose all track of time. He walked until his feet hurt, until each and every one of his breaths felt like an entire galaxy expanding inside his lungs , until his mom and dad were just a reflection on a still body of water and that's when he saw it. 

It was a brass mask. Half of it was buried in the ground, the other half peeking out, the silent light moving over it drawing silvery circles around one eye hole. It was right there next to the roots of some tree and Loki got on his knees and used his fingers to dig around it. The dirt hurt getting under his fingernails but Loki kept filling his fist with more until he could pull it out.

He ran his palm over it once and exposed a wide stripe of bronze. He did it again and the dirt sticking to and blocking the eye hole, fell away and through the hole he could see some very light fog hovering over the grass, tiny flowers looking like little blooms of smoke turning their heads towards the shadows.

Loki used the tiny droplets of rain dotting the sleek bright surface to wipe the mask clean. It looked like the face of a sleeping man. He stuck his little finger inside the cut that was the mouth and ran his finger over the edges. 

The Romans used these masks in battle to protect the face. Battle masks, they were called. 

Loki stood up and with the tip of the brass nose pressing hard into the palm of his hand, put it on. It felt wet and the cold made his cheeks sting. He parted his lips to breathe and the air he drew in tasted like chalk. The edges of the eye holes were pressing against his lashes, pushing them back and with his pupils exposed like that he watched the forest and there was nothing there that could make him believe it wasn't the same forest from such a long time ago, using that light rain to wash away those deep burgundy stains sticking to the roots and the leaves and the grass. 

When Loki removed it, that's when he first saw him. He appeared in the second it took Loki to pull the mask to the side, a boy about his age, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, dark blonde hair sticking to his temples, damp from the rain. 

He smiled at Loki and Loki studied his face with the sound of the falling rain filling his ears with whispers. 

Was this boy a part of their group? 

Loki couldn't remember. 

"A face mask," the boy said and ran his fingers over the mask from temple to chin.

Loki watched him, the way his lashes fluttered in the light drizzle, the softness of his lips, the kindness in his eyes and his heart was full of longing for an unnamed memory. 

"The Romans used them to protect the face," the boy said and Loki blinked slow.

"I know. The tour guide told us about it. Were you with us? I don't remember seeing your face before."

The boy smiled and moved the mask in front of his own face so it obscured it from Loki's eyes, one strong thumb pressing down on a pair of bronze lips, holding the mask up. 

"Did your tour guide tell you this story?" he asked Loki and brought the mask down little by little, exposing a soft brow, a blue eye, a straight nose and a pair of beautiful lips dotted with raindrops. 

Loki raised his brows and the boy leaned in a bit closer and his voice was like a summer storm, quiet and comforting, "many of Varus' men died here. It was raining then, just as it's raining now. They were ambushed. Slaughtered one by one. Breath gone and all memory gone with it. So many unnamed. Tales of bravery forgotten. One tale remains. The tale of two of Varus' soldiers. They were young. They were in love. They were only boys when they were drafted and as much as they wanted to fill Augustus' heart with pride, they also wanted to return home alive, to hold hands in the sun, to see the stars in each other's eyes. They marched side by side in the rain. The sound of it was everywhere. They were cold and tired, but they had a long way to go before they could set up camp. One of them thought of the way his lover looked with the golden outline of their beloved city reflecting in his eyes, with all that glorious sunlight bathing his shoulders, with the taste of infinity and freedom on his lips and the other looked at him in the dark and saw all that longing in his eyes and reached over to touch his hand. Only one of them saw the spear flying out of the shadows, starlight moving over it like a bolt of lightning, and covered the other with his body. That spear pierced two hearts that night. They never made it home."

The boy grasped the collar of his t-shirt and tugged on it. 

And there it was, a birthmark identical to his own, just over his heart and Loki pressed his palm to his own chest and the boy gave him a sad smile and took his hand.


	6. The Astronomer (Tell Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor buys Loki a notebook before he moves away with his dad. They use that notebook to communicate with each other after Thor is gone. Highschool AU. Loki's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little fic goes with the tumblr propmt Tell Me. This one has a school shooting in it guys, putting this warning here for anyone that could be triggered by it.

I never told mom and dad about the notebook.

Sometimes it's okay to keep things to yourself. You keep secrets because sometimes people just can't deal with what you accept as just this normal thing. They say it's crazy, but it's keeping you sane, it's the only thing that's keeping you from falling apart. But I'm not just keeping this to myself. I'm keeping this between you and me too, and that's something they can never understand.

You got me the notebook before you had to move away, remember? You didn't want to go, but your dad said he's not happy with our school. He chose some other high school for you in this city you had to drive for almost 4 hours to get to, and sometimes I'd think that maybe he was trying to take you away from me because he wanted other things for you and I just wasn't good enough.

We went shopping for school stuff a week before you had to go. It was back in August and it was freezing inside that store and you noticed me just walking around with my arms just wrapped around myself trying to cover as much skin as I could because I was wearing that t-shirt you gave me with that Bukowski quote and the sleeves are super short and you just wrapped your arm around me like you always used to do and pressed me against your side and kept me warm. I'm wearing that shirt now and that quote just stretching across my chest feels like an extra rib now because of all that's happened, it just became a part of me, just like you became a part of me, and you'll always be.

 _Find what you_ love _and let it kill you._

The girl at the counter gave us two little baskets to put all our stuff in but you wanted us to only take the one because you wanted all our things just lying there together in this crazy little heap and there they were: my blue pens tumbling over your black ones and our highlighters creating this beautiful mess of insane ice cream colors and I thought that all those things will end up in different bags in a while and these bags will end up in different cities and we'll feel all that weight of being apart on our shoulders and there'll be no way of ignoring it and it'll hurt.

  
We got all the notebooks we needed for school but after we put them all in the basket you were still standing there staring at these two notebooks bound together with this pink ribbon, giving off this feeling that those are not for school, those are for writing all these personal things in.

With one arm still hugging my shoulders you picked them off the shelf and tugged on the ribbon. You looked from one to the other and gave me the one with the pink heart on the cover. The one with the word journey on it you kept to yourself.

"What's this for?" I asked you, pressing the notebook to my lips, hugging your warm waist with my other arm.

"So you can write to me when I'm gone," you told me and your mouth pressed, hot and sweet against my ear, "I want you to write to me every day."

You pulled back and your eyes were really serious and soft at the same time, my favorite combination, "tell me everything. Tell me what the skies look like when you wake up. Tell me about this line you read in a poem that really touched you right here-"

Your hair tickled my neck when you bent your head and pressed a kiss to my heart.

Then you pressed your forehead to my temple and I could hear your soft blinks and feel your lashes fluttering against mine, "tell me what you're thinking about when everything's quiet. Tell me what word tastes really sweet when you say it."

Your name. It's your name that tastes really sweet when I say it. But your name isn't just a word, it's this feeling that you get when you go outside and the night is everywhere with all its stars and it becomes the jacket on your shoulders, the hand in yours, the earth you're walking on and the air that you breathe.

But these things are just thoughts and they scatter away like doves, so fast, and one thought of you was followed by another thought of you because you're all I can think about and I wanted to tell you about that thought but I got lost in your eyes and you didn't hear it then, but I'm telling you about it now, not just about this but about all those things I thought I could tell you about when it'd be just you and me again, no more miles between us keeping your heart from mine.

"You write everything down for me," you said and ran your thumb over my knuckles, "and when I'll come back I'll read everything, I promise."

"Do the same for me," I told you and pressed my mouth just behind your ear, "will you write too?"

And your reply was this tiny song, sweet and quiet, your voice rumbling in my chest, like a gentle storm: "everyday, everyday."

I propped my chin on your shoulder, both my arms hugging one of your large arms and we both looked down at that pink ribbon; you were still holding it and it was draped over your pinky once and it was dangling the rest of the way and you turned your eyes to mine and they were filled with laughter-I've never seen so much light in someone's eyes-and you said to me: "this is ours."

Your dad was working late that day and we went back to my place and you stayed with me until it was time to go. You loved feeling the sun on your face so you pulled the curtains aside and lay on my bed in this beautiful large stripe of all this glorious light and your skin looked like honey and that dimple there at the left corner of your mouth looked like a half-moon and this sensational scent of you, this delightful mix of fields and afternoons and wind and sunlight just went right into my lungs and stayed there and I can still feel it every time I breathe.

"Give me your hand," you said and I offered it to you, wrist facing up and you reached into your pocket and took out the ribbon.

"This," you said and moved it over this single blue vein that was visible there on my wrist and it felt like a ray of spring light, sweet and warm, "is our forever."

You tied it around my wrist and when I moved it, the ribbon slid down and caught the light and felt like silk, but the knot was secure and I knew there was no way of removing it, unknotting it-the only way it was coming off was if I were to use a pair of scissors but I never wanted it off, it will stay with me until there are no more stars in the sky.

"This is me holding your hand when I'm gone. This is your heart beating and the next beat is mine," you said and laced your fingers with mine, "this is you and me, no miles between us."

The day you went away the sun was nowhere to be seen. The trees were grey and the roofs were grey and your dad's car waiting there for you in front of my house, and my hands, they were all grey. You were the only thing that was in color, you and that ribbon you tied around my wrist, the color of cherry blossoms.

I wasn't angry at you, I just stood there with my arms wrapped around myself because I couldn't move. You had a black t-shirt on. I wore black that day too. Your father wore white.

It took you forever to get to me. I wanted your arms around me and it felt like you were walking for days, years, entire lifetimes. Your eyes were lined with redness and when you hugged me your skin smelled like sunsets and candle-smoke and your body was so heavy and warm and I got on my tiptoes and hugged your neck and you exhaled all short and warm against my neck and your left arm was around my waist and you were palming the back of my head, your fingers like rays of sun in my hair.

On my neck I could feel you squeezing your eyes shut and your lashes were wet and your chest felt tight against mine. And everything was so quiet, I couldn't even hear the engine running or the wind moving through the pines. All I could hear were the tiny noises of you: the sound of your blinks, your breaths all wet and ragged and uneven and most of all your silence.

Nothing was moving; the pines were standing there as if encased in ice and your dad's car with its ocean color and the grey trees behind it looked like one of those sad photographs you spot in a book , the one you always want to skip because it has this deadly potential of reminding you just how lonely you are. It was just our hands moving, my fingers stroking the back of your head and your arm moving up and back to slip your thumb between that pink ribbon and my skin and you pushed down on my hands so I'd hug you tighter, closer, and when I opened my eyes all the trees around us looked like undulating trails of smoke spiraling towards the sky, like all that's left of some great fires that only tried reminding people that flames can be beautiful but were met with nothing but fear, and my lashes felt sticky, the skin stinging.

"Take me with you," I said and you tightened your arms around me and my feet were no longer touching the ground. You crushed me to your chest so tight that it felt like I was about to fall right into you and build myself a house from your ribs, live inside you forever and there was nothing I wanted more.

You took a few steps with me in your arms and I could feel my house getting closer with all its pale purple curtains and the pots in the windows, and your dad's car moving away, lost, forgotten.

And you held me there and there was a branch blooming just over our heads and the shadows it cast across your shoulders were all pink, a shape of a flower on your back, close to where you heart was.

There were so many things you could have said to me then. I'll be back was one of them. You said it in the store but that morning you couldn't say it.

And your fingers got all tangled up in that ribbon and you squeezed it in your fist and your voice was in my ear, "write to me. Write it all down. Tell me everything. Tell me the word that tastes the sweetest when you say it. Tell me what the skies look like when you wake up."

"Grey," I said, "they'll always look grey without you."

It's weird how it happens; people just disappear. One second they're there and the next they're gone and there's this space that's left there where shadows and flowers can fall but that space will never again have you in it.

I was supposed to start school the next day and all I could think about was that I'd never see you in the halls again, never sit with you on the library stairs with my feet on your lap working on my homework, never have you hug me when I'd forget my jacket on one of those really cold days because I always did since we first started dating and you used to tell me that maybe I was doing that on purpose to have your arms around me even more, and maybe you were right.

I stayed out in the yard all day. Mom and dad went to work right after you left and I couldn't bring myself to go back to my room.

Was I waiting for you to come back?

You know that bench there just in the thin shade of my dad's favorite almond tree? That's where I sat and the sun felt cold on my skin and I kept seeing us, holding hands there with all those white flowers falling all around us and I watched the road until it got too dark to see anything and the streetlights flickered on and mom told me to come inside.

I didn't write to you that day. I couldn't. And it felt like I was breaking a promise.

You texted me that night, remember? You sent me a photo of the view from your bedroom window, purple skies and small houses with their light brown roofs and you wrote to me that your window is facing my way.

Writing to you was hard. Talking to you on the phone felt closer; I'd have your voice right there in my ear and if I closed my eyes I could imagine you sitting next to me with all your blonde hair in that bun, so close I'd hear you slurping that iced raspberry juice you always went crazy for, munching on that pink straw and sneaking your freezing fingers under my shirt to have a go at my ribs because me being ticklish never failed to make you laugh.

But writing to you felt like this solitary thing. I couldn't hear you, I couldn't see you and it felt like writing a letter and you only write letters to people who aren't there with you. It'd just be me and those crisp-white pages and all my memories of you and in those moments I'd feel like you were never real, like I'd invented you, Your eyes and your kisses and the strong beats of your heart.

You'd call me at random hours of the day because classes were never a sure thing and your dad was trying to keep you away from the phone when he was home and you'd tell me how you wrote an entire page about that time we got lost in Atlanta when we were traveling with my mom and dad and they let us out of their sight for just a minute and we were gone because you set two young heart free they can't resist exploring, drawing a map of all those streets inside the warm arteries for the blood to travel through; and how your dad is driving you crazy with collage things and you'd ask me if I've been writing and I'd be unable to tell you the truth, that I've barely written anything since you left because it was making me feel all that distance like an endless galaxy in my heart and I'd murmur a yes and you'd turn quiet and I'd bring the wrist with the ribbon around it close to my chest and close my eyes.

Starting to write to you was like finding my voice again, like feeling for my own hand in the dark because the place I'd fallen into after you left has no stars in it and I was lost; and I know it's like that, you lose certain things and you spend the rest of your life looking for them and it's like that with you; like the astronomer forever gazing at the stars, looking for that one that shines like no other-its own silver secret, its own key to that world inside that has planets rotating around the heart-I will search for you amongst them for as long as I breathe.

When I first started writing to you, I used the third person without even thinking about it and it felt like I've played a wrong note.

I wrote: _the way he'd sleep with his arm underneath his head, lost under the pillow, just his elbow visible, red and full of stripes from the folds of the sheets pressing into his skin-I miss it._

I reread the lines.

He'd.

His.

I crossed out these words. Replaced them with 'you'd' and 'your'. And it didn’t feel distant anymore, it didn't feel like someone else's life there on the page. I was addressing my words to you, putting memories on paper and it felt like somewhere you were listening. And even though I was using the past tense it felt like we were talking about things we loved and the entire thing just swept me away. I'd take the notebook with me to school and write everywhere-in the halls sitting with my back against the lockers, on the roof making sure no one sees me, in the shade of those trees in the back that always smelled like rain even in the summer. And I'd write so small and the pens would run out and I'd go to the store after school to get new ones, but there were always more pages left untouched no matter how much I'd write and maybe it was you doing that to make sure you'd keep hearing my voice and have it turn into a hand that will hold yours when the sun looks grey.

You'd always call me just before you'd go to sleep. You'd describe a beautiful summer in my ear and I'd feel your forehead pressing against my temple and your cheek all warm from the sun and you'd smile with your face pressed behind my ear and take me down a street that ends in the whitest light. You'd paint the night gold for me every day; no matter how sad you were you always had your colors for me and I never got a change to tell you how much I loved you for it, but I'm telling you now. I'm telling you everything now.

One night you didn't call.

It was past midnight and I texted you and when you didn't text me back I thought you must have fallen asleep. I had a bad dream that night and I woke up with stardust sticking to my lips and this feeling of an ending in my heart and it racing kept me up and this delirium took over-spilling the sun into a tall glass, watching a pink ribbon wrapping itself around planets and in all that silence pulling them together and tying a bow on top, lying there with a white almond blossom in my mouth, listening to the darkness picking apples from the trees too soon, much too soon.

I texted you again in the morning and when you didn't text me back I thought maybe you had a class.

Everything was quiet when I got back home. I took my notebook out of my bag, all the books, put everything on the bed. I wanted to write to you, had the notebook open and the pen was heavy with memories in my hand but the phone rang in the kitchen. It was mom telling me she'd be late because something came up at work.

When I got back there was the notebook lying open on the sheets and before I went down to the kitchen I flipped to a new page. Two clean sheets of paper when I left, and when I got back the one on the left had writing on it.

At first I thought maybe I did that, maybe I wrote something and forgot I did because missing you was bleeding into everything and the memories of you kept pushing every other memory that didn't have you in it away, like things I did or things I didn't do.

But when I took the notebook in my hands I knew I wasn't the one who wrote these words.

There was one line there and I'd recognize your handwriting anywhere.

_I'm sorry I didn't call._

I hugged the notebook to my chest and with my heart in my throat ran from one room to the other looking for you because you had to be there, it was your handwriting on that page with that distinctive sharp T and those R's that always looked like a V and the almond tree was standing outside stripped of all its leaves because it was winter and I went through the fall without you and maybe all of us go through all the seasons alone because even if there's someone with us we think of the times there won't be, and my smile turned to dust when I couldn't find you anywhere because I should have known not to check because there's no way of you being somewhere close to me without me knowing it, feeling your presence like a wave of warmth, feeling you like an extra heartbeat inside my chest.

The walls heard me calling your name and replied with silence and I sat on the bed and stared at your words until they got blurry. The silence was pressing its mouth to my ear when I moved my fingers over those letters, feeling the scratches your pen left on the paper and the ink smelled so sweet.

I blinked and the blurriness shifted and I picked up my pen and pressed it to the paper, just underneath your words and wrote:

_I had a bad dream last night._

I put the notebook down and hugged my knees, pressing the kneecaps so hard against my chest it hurt. And I waited and it felt like I waited forever and maybe I did-maybe that kind of waiting takes years off your life and does that astronomer ever find that star it's looking for?

And there it was, that sharp T, black and thick; followed by a tiny E and they weren't there before and then they were, and I couldn't hear your pen or see your hand but the letters kept coming.

Two L's.

_Tell me._

I wiped at the tears but they kept coming and why did you ask me to tell you if you already knew?

_There was a candle burning in a window. It was night and all that darkness was closing in on it. The flame was flickering. It was breathing. And the circle of light surrounding it looked like the sun. It was burning but then the wind came. The wind came and snuffed it out._

You couldn't tell me it was only a dream because it wasn't. You couldn't tell me that everything will be ok because you knew it couldn't be. There were only two things you could say, and you've said them both.

_I love you._

_I'm so sorry._

Dad told me what happened. There was a shooting at your school. Someone got sad and decided to spread that sadness because no one spreads happiness anymore and soon happiness will become extinct. There were some younger kids there two boys and a girl and you shielded them with your body. They made it. You got a bullet to the heart. Instant death, they said.

You were carrying the notebook with you when it happened. The police wanted to throw it away because the pages were soaked with your blood, but they asked your dad first and he said no. I don't know if he read it or not but he never let me have it. And I keep getting this image in my head of it lying there on the table in your room in a pool of sunlight, the blood drying as time passes, turning brown like pressed rose petals.

I never told mom and dad about the notebook. Sometimes it's okay to keep things to yourself. Sometimes it's okay to hope, to write to you, like I'm doing now and hope that you'll write back to me again, wait for those letters to appear, wait for that sweet smell of the ink to fill my lungs and repaint memories inside my heart. Just like that astronomer looking at the skies at night, I tighten the ribbon around my wrist and search for your face amongst the stars.


	7. Flower (Love Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki looks for a flower inside the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very very short one for the tumblr prompt Love Me.  
> No warnings here, it's just a sweet short one.
> 
> Dedicating this to you, my love, because you wanted something sweet!

We were just heading back to your place after school when you took my hand and headed for the forest. You had lily hands and the skies were the color of faded denim and your hair was up in a bun with this pink pen holding all that beautiful dark mess together and I bent my head and tugged on the collar of your t-shirt with my teeth.

We walked for a bit and the forest floor was covered with purple flowers looking like a carpet of butterflies and I knew what you were thinking, you were looking for this white one because there had to be one in all that ocean of purple, right?

We wore our sleeves of cool shadows on our arms and sat on the grass. I pressed my chest to your back and your lashes were stripes of approaching twilight and your ear felt cold when I pressed my cheek to yours.

"Don’t," you said because you felt my eyes on the back of your head.

I took your earlobe between my teeth and with one tug on that pen the bun came undone. Your hair looked blue in that light and I moved it to the side over your left shoulder, slipping one finger behind your ear and drawing a half-moon there, tucking a soft strand behind it.

"Do you ever listen?"

"I do," I said and pulled my head back a bit to look you in the eye, "but I need it."

Your eyes moved to my mouth and you asked: "what for?"

And I held my wrist for you to see and moved my other arm around you to reach it with the pen.

 _You'll never find that flower out there,_ I wrote on my skin.

"Why?" you asked me quietly.

And I pressed my lips to your cheek and kept my mouth pressed against your sweet skin while I added another line of ink to my wrist.

_Because that flower is you._


	8. The Heart Is Flexible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor pierces Loki's ear and tells him all about this thing called piercer crush.

His piercer looks hot.

He has to be new around here because Loki has never seen him before. The guy who did his tongue piercing around four months ago is gone-Loki asked around the shop and one of the guys said he's in jail, this other person said he's hiking in hell and this girl said: "the fucker's dead." ; second and third options sound kinda similar though so Loki goes for the dead assumption and dead people are always replaced by some living ones and so he has this gorgeous babe here getting ready to stick this huge needle in his ear, pulling on a pair of black gloves and Loki can't stop staring.

He's so tall he makes the room look like a matchbox and there's no way he's under 6'5. He's wearing a white cut-off shirt and it says 'slay' on the front; the letters are bold and black and the L is actually a fucking sword pointing down, the tip of the blade ending just above his navel, silver watch on the left wrist catching the light, a leather bracelet on the right, a ring on each thumb and a cool neck tattoo-roses or something-in black and red ink.

"Ever done this before?"

Loki wishes it's just the piercer trying to make small talk but it's not, some part of Loki's brain thought teasing would be an awesome thing to do and once the words are there on his tongue there's no way to keep his mouth shut.

The piercer looks amused and looks at him and his eyes are this mind-blowing shade of blue and Loki pushes the warm metal bar against his front teeth because he's always toying with his tongue piercing when he's nervous and fucking up.

The piercer snaps one glove on, "I should be the one asking, you look like you cut Biology or something to be here."

"Just started college."

"You're shitting me," the piercer looks him over, "you look sixteen."

"Well, I'm not," Loki says and the piercer grabs the needle and his chair and moves close to Loki.

He's putting the second glove on and after taking a long peek into Loki's eyes he concludes with a smirk, "you look sneaky. I like it."

"Where's Matt?" Loki finds himself asking because people calling him sneaky calls for a change of subject cause he is, in fact, sneaky and how dare they uncover his secret so easily?

Pop!

The piercer's gum goes off like a tiny bomb and even when he's got his frown on he still looks hot, "who?"

"The piercer that was here before you. Purple hair. Tragus in both ears."

"Ah, that dude," the piercer fiddles with the plastic keeping the needle clean and skims the ceiling with his eyes, "heard he got swallowed by some whale or something while diving god knows where. Whale didn't like the way he tasted so it spat him out and now he's in some cuckoo place trying to work through the trauma."

Loki raises an eyebrow.

The piercer raises one gloved hand, "swear to god. That tattoo artist, what's her name? Gina, we talked about it just yesterday."

"She told you the whale thing?"

"She did. But everyone turns into a storyteller around here when it comes to this guy. Looked like an asshole to me, to be honest."

The piercer fingers the blue head of the needle and he's looking from one of Loki's eyes to the other.

"You liked him or something?" he asks and Loki's eyes get all wide because what the fuck.

"Matt?"

"Mm-hm."

Ooh, this guy's a flirt. Truth was, Matt looked like a suicidal giraffe and had zero sex appeal, but hey, let's see what happens.

"Oh yeah," Loki says and gives the piercer a one –shouldered shrug, "I mean, who could resist that face?"

The piercer squints at him with his left eye and his lashes from up close are phenomenal, looking like threads of gold and his blonde hair is brushing his shoulders and Loki squirms in his seat, pushing his shoulders back into the chair, trying to find a comfortable spot and look cool all at the same time.

"You know," the piercer says and hands Loki a little mirror, "there's this thing called piercer crush."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep," he says and uncaps his purple marking pen, "show me where you want it."

Yes, please.

The mirror's frame has dragons engraved on it and Loki looks at his own reflection and he looks nothing like this golden god sitting there in front of him waiting to put a little dot where Loki wants the piercing to be; his eyes are simply grey and his cheekbones are showing, lips really thin like his mother's, black wavy hair reaching just under his jaw.

The piercer looks at him and when Loki just stares at himself and wonders what the hell is that piercer crush thing and did the guy just make it up on the spot, the piercer leans forward and tucks Loki's hair behind his left ear.

Loki looks at him and the piercer hands him the pen, "you wanna do it?"

And miss the touch of god's fingers on his ear? No way.

"You do it," Loki says and tilts his head back a bit to see better.

"How about here?" Loki points to a spot and the piercer gets so close his hair almost brushes Loki's cheek and he smells amazing, just like the ocean.

And there's his fingers touching Loki's ear and how warm they feel makes Loki realize his ears are freezing cold.

Then, a little poke-the tip of the pen against his skin-and when Loki looks in the mirror again there's a purple dot close to the top of his ear and it's exactly where Loki wanted it.

"That's kinda it," he says to the piercer because too many praises are never a good thing and the piercer gives him this look that says: 'it's the pro's league here, baby. We're better than you' and Loki pulls a face.

The piercer puts the pen on the table and comes over to the other side, the wheels of the chair making a fuss.

Loki watches those beautiful hands with their long strong fingers toying with the plastic and the piercer takes one long look at his mouth before tearing the plastic off the needle.

"Did that Matt guy do that?"

"Do what?"

"Your tongue piercing."

"He did, actually," Loki says and getting it done hurt so bad because Matt had zero talent at this, should have gone for mechanics instead, but this gorgeous creature here doesn't need to know about that, "I never told you I have one. How did you know?"

"You keep playing with it," the piercer says and here they are again, his eyes on his lips and the little metal bar makes a tiny clink when it hits the back of Loki's teeth and the piercer smirks like 'I knew it'.

"So that piercer crush thing," Loki says and tries to look like he doesn't care, "what's it all about?"

Loki swears he can hear the piercer give this little hum before pulling himself close to Loki so he can reach his ear nice and comfortable.

"Well," he says and Loki blinks when he feels those fingers on his ear again, followed by the tip of the needle, "we have this saying around here."

"What, in your little piercers circle?"

He chuckles and Loki feels his gloved knuckles brushing against his cheek as he's angling the needle and it feels more than nice.

"Yeah. We have like this kinda secret society thing here and all we do is get together on the weekends and just make shit up because what can you do, right? So-"

And Loki thinks about those rings there under all that black latex and to feel them on his lips would be heavenly.

The piercer's forearm touches his shoulder and the latex on his ear feels cool and Loki fists his hands in his _anarchy is power_ t-shirt.

"We think that this is this intimate thing, to get something like this done. It's another person touching your body and it's a lot like love in a way. You trust this person and you share this secret with them because sometimes people keep the fact that they want something like this done hidden. Sometimes you let this person see parts of yourself no one has seen before. There's a lot of trust there, you know?"

And Loki's lashes flutter when he feels the needle going in. He takes a sharp breath in and holds it and he can feel the piercer's eyes on him, and they're soft.

"And the pain," the piercer says and his voice is as smooth as the way that needle's going in, "it feels a lot like pleasure."

Another sting, this time of the needle going out the other way and Loki closes his eyes, his ears growing warm.

"So we say you get a piercing done, you crush on the person who put it in you-" and there's the cool bar going in, Loki's first Helix and the piercer backs away a little to give Loki a smile, "piercer crush."

He gives Loki the mirror again and Loki takes a look and it's not the piercing he chose for himself; the bar is silver and the little things keeping it in place are pink and when Loki looks more carefully he spots a tiny heart engraved there on the bar and shit he's blushing.

"Matt was my first," Loki says.

"And I'm your second," the piercer says and grins, "hey, the heart is flexible."


	9. Lostheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part of the 300 words a day thingy on tumblr. Prostitue Loki! A little bit of ocean and skinny jeans.

“Hi there sweetheart.”

Thor’s driving with the window down, one elbow poking out, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, aviators on his hair and it’s hot outside and there’s this kid he picked off the street two nights ago walking out there with his hands in his pockets and the _sweetheart_ gets his attention right away and he looks up.

They’re close to the ocean and the air is salty and that kid’s shoes aren’t laced all the way up. The laces leave thin trails on the burning sand that look like waves and there’s so much light all around that Thor can see the outline of Loki’s ankle through the black skinny jeans he’s wearing; he can see pale cuticles and veins twisting up towards his wrists looking like never-ending strings of wishes; soft wavy black hair tucked behind a delicate ear.

The kid blinks at him. Smiles a bit. Squints and shades his eyes with his left hand.

Takes him a few seconds to say something but when he does his voice moves with the wind and caresses Thor’s face.

“You sure about that?”

Thor glances through the windshield then back at Loki.

“About what?”

The kid looks over his right shoulder. The ocean’s there looking like a blank sheet of paper and-is that a sailboat rocking on the waves in the distance?

When he turns his head back to peek through the window of the moving car a curl slips from behind his ear and sticks to his cheek. Loki tucks it back and his fingers linger there for a while, ring finger folded behind his ear, pinky sticking up.

“The _sweet_ part,” he says.

Thor drums a slow beat on the car door: thumb, pinky, forefinger; pinky, forefinger, thumb. And there’s this memory in his head just running laps all over the place: how he pushed Loki’s Heaven Is In Your Kiss t-shirt all the way up until it almost reached his chin, how he tugged on his skinny jeans with both hands and placed Loki’s left leg over his shoulder and with his strong fingers closing around that slim ankle licked a trail up his chest and sucked on one very sensitive nipple.

“I think I’m sure, yeah,” Thor says and tilts his head back a bit, “definitely sweet.”

Loki tucks both hands into his pockets, looks all the way up until Thor thinks Loki can see all the way to the spot where the last planet in the universe spins in its own divine darkness.

“Try _lost_ , maybe?” he suggests and Thor frowns.

Thor chuckles but gives it a shot, “hi there lostheart.”

Loki smiles and his eyes twinkle, “see, now that’s a winner.”

“Pssh, yeah. Will get ‘em every time, huh?”

“You’ll get a ton of pretty boys hopping into your car in no time at all with that line.”

“I only want one,” Thor says and his voice sounds like summer.

The wind pastes the black t-shirt to Loki’s body and he grabs the front of it and gives it a gentle shake. The fabric creases. The left sleeve flies up and exposes his shoulder.

Loki tugs on the sleeve, trying to bring it down, “does it look like I’m working?”

Thor smiles and it’s all crooked, “you guys are like werewolves or something? Only starting to move around when the moon comes up?”

Loki runs his hand down his arm. Thinks about it for a bit.

“Maybe we’re like dying stars,” he says, “you can’t see us when the sun is up. But when it’s dark, we shine and show you the way, teach you how your hearts work.”

Loki looks down and the ocean glints in the distance like a broken piece of glass.

“And then we fall,” he says, “and you can never see us again.”

Then he squints at Thor and smiles more easy, “too depressing for a walk on the beach?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Thought so.”

Thor slows the car down ever more and Loki gives him a little grin.

“Tell ya what. Buy me some Dr. Pepper and I’m yours for a bit.”

Thor stops the car and his eyes move over Loki’s body, linger on his lips and playful eyes.

“How long?” he asks and Loki walks over to the passenger door and peeks in and he smells like strawberry and sunshine.

“Until my light burns out and I turn to stardust in your arms,” he says and the ocean exhales softly.


	10. Footprints in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lonely Thor creates a beautiful ice prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is dedicated to my lovelies: golikethatcat, raven-brings-light, darklittlestories and beta_cygni!

Thor sits on his father’s throne.

He’s young, and sitting on it feels like losing your way inside a forest. It’s made of sunlight and oceans-sighs, afternoon shadows and midnight silence, elven wood and gold, gravity and distance. It’s standing at the top of the tallest tower surrounded by four pillars, one to represent the east, the other the west, south and north. 

And you can see all of Asgard from up there, all its forests and seas, mountains and deserts and Thor sits there for hours and there’s sunlight and starlight in his hair, wind and salt, sweet pollen and sand.

And his father’s ravens come and go, inky feathers and pale beaks, claws tapping on stone, beady eyes searching for the sun and moon; they leap off the tower as birds, stretching their wings like a fan, and come back as men, young boys with black eyes and secrets on their tongues, their cloaks smelling like pines and jasmine, their hair cool and streaked with moonlight. They press a hand to their hearts and bow before Thor, their lips sticky with cherry and blackberry juice, their fingernails tainted with stone-dust, and they lean close, one over each of his shoulders, cup a hand over their mouths and whisper and Thor listens. They tell him about ships that look like nut shells, their sails as white as a fish’s spine; about a mountain that sings at night and how the dust falling from it sticks to lashes fluttering in the nearby villages and brings about dreams of green pastures and sweet milk; about two sets of footprints in a grey landscape, there for miles on end, and then gone when they reach the ocean; about places so old no one remember their names, lands untouched by the hands of gods or men, where it’s so cold that the heart grows tired and the soul turns white and moves like fog until it’s all gone.

Their warm breath on his neck, the loneliness blooming like a flower made of frost inside his heart and the young god of thunder closes his eyes.

*

A single black tree in all that clear ice, four huge branches all twisted like a young boy’s braid; it casts no shadow and smells like blue smoke.

The wind moves so fast it sounds like a whistle and the heart of the young god of thunder feels like it’s floating, fluttering like a leaf getting close to the skies.

The tree’s roots move like a snake beneath the ice and Thor can feel the movement in his bones, deep and great.

Thor stands so close to it and the bark looks like it’s covered in scales, purple-silver and shining like coins. It shakes its branches and speaks.

“Traveler. What is it that you seek?”

Thor looks down, mouth set in a hard line, soft furs draped over his shoulders, leather straps twisting around his wrists. He thinks of the ravens’ red mouths and his lips bleed.

“You will find nothing here,” the tree says.

Thor wipes his mouth.

“Only ice and death.”

*

Blue starlight pours over a castle of ice crafted by nature’s gentle hands. Inside it sits the god of thunder. His hand is outstretched, his fingers spread, and he’s painting with lightning. It’s bright white and it trembles and zigzags through the icy air, forming faces and bodies, smiles made of electricity. They’re all there for a moment and then they’re gone and others appear, frowns and laughter and joined hands. And Thor watches the forms move over the gigantic walls of ice and when he reaches with his fingers to touch them, they flicker and disappear.

The ice is resistant. Thor uses the heat of the lightning to engrave a face in it. He’s standing there with his forehead touching the wall of ice and sculpts a face next to his own, using his forefinger to create the eyes and the cheekbones, the long hair and the neck; his small finger to create the lips; his entire palm to create the body, and one gentle fingernail for the beautiful lashes.

The heat causes the ice to crack and drip and all that white light is making him dizzy, and when he’s done he separates the form from the ice, presses his palm to the still heart lying inside it and shocks it to life.

The night trickling in through the ceiling paints the form’s hair black and Thor’s smeared blood on the ice turns its lips dark red.

His beautiful ice prince draws in his first breath in Thor’s arms, and Thor names him Loki, because in Asgard, Lokee means heart.

*

The god of thunder knows he can’t take Loki with him to Asgard. Loki’s a beautiful creature of frost and shadows and Asgard’s heat will be swift in stealing the breath from his lips.

He can’t stay with Loki so he builds him a home, a tall castle that looks like it’s made of starlight and air. But a home is not enough-Loki never asks him for more-but Thor sculpts an entire kingdom for him; towers and houses and walls for protection, forests made of frost and breaths, roads as white as milk leading everywhere.

And when he spots flickers of loneliness in his lover’s eyes he fills the kingdom with life. He gives Loki two brothers carved from ice and names them Helblindi and Byleistr; three brothers living in a kingdom of frost that Thor names Jotunheim.

Thor visits Jotunheim often. He only leaves when the cold threatens to stop his heart. They live on cherries and kisses and Loki’s warm body in Thor’s arms.

And when Thor sits on his father’s throne and the ravens whisper in his ears of two sets of footprints in a grey landscape, Thor smiles and thinks of two sets of footprints in the snow.


	11. no lie monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor try a little something new. Handcuffs mention!

“You know, I’m not really enjoying this, actually. Just thought you should know.”

You look at them and they just look like two regular guys, one blonde and crazy buff looking like a fucking heartbreaker, the other dark-haired and skinny looking like a thread of silk that’s nice to touch but can wrap itself around your neck in a sec and kill ya just like that.

They’re having a coffee at a normal coffee shop where old dudes enjoy their morning tea and kids are having their wickedly sweet hot chocolate with marshmallows on top cause who needs school. Window seat. Thor’s having an espresso. Loki’s having something the super hyper girl behind the counter described as a caffeine adventure. Thor’s got his left hand on the table, Loki’s got his right. Thor’s right and Loki’s left are under the table and for a good reason.

Thor smirks, sips his espresso, “thought you said you wanted to try a little something new.”

Loki lifts his wrist and Thor’s heavy forearm comes up as well. Loki bangs it on the edge of the table.

Metal hits wood and the sound is all muffled.

Bang!

“Handcuffs are not exactly what I had in mind,” Loki says.

“Huh,” Thor says, puts his cup down and grabs his phone, “what then?”

“Something less-ah!” Loki winces cause Thor forgot their wrists are tied together and made to scroll with his right, and that pull fucking hurt.

Thor looks at him like sorry and Loki wonders if that stupid cuff cut into the skin at all.

“-annoying,” Loki finishes.

“Says here,” Thor says and pops his gum, looking at his phone, “keeping these on for a while before you have sex is gonna get you all-”

He pauses for dramatic effect, and wiggles his brows, “excited.”

“Yeah, well,” Loki huffs, “they probably meant you should put them on like ten minutes before you try and get into someone’s pants. At home. Not go for a bloody walk with them on.”

“That’s cause the people who wrote this are boring,” Thor throws his phone down on the table, “they’re thinking inside the box.”

Loki purses his lips, “there’s an old woman staring straight at us. She knows.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Thor, she knows.”

Thor grins, pulls his own wrist back, dragging Loki forward till it’s almost his entire arm under the table.

Loki squints, still holding onto his cup with his right hand, “oh, don’t you d-”

Thor grabs Loki’s palm and presses it to the front of his pants. He’s wearing jeans. No fucking underwear. Guess who’s hard?

“Doesn’t take a lot to turn you on, does it?” Loki mumbles.

Thor grins all crooked and finishes his espresso, his eyes smiling at Loki over the cup.

“I’m quite disappointed in you, Thor,” Loki quirks one brow, “handcuffs, really?”

“Hey, I’ve always been kinky.”

“You’ve always been an idiot,” Loki says and pulls his hand away, trying to look casual like nope I didn’t just touch this guy’s-

“Not turned on?” Thor looks at him with this shit eating grin going on, “not even a little bit?”

“You wish.”

Should be this thing called no lie Monday. Would do Loki some good.


	12. that's where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor pierces Loki's nipple. AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piercer!thor fic. I should make a series for these.

Loki's been wanting to get his nipple pierced for a while now.

Left one. That's where the heart is. Piercing so close to it kinda feels like he's making a philosophical statement or something, like: _life got me right in the heart_ or whatever, and Loki's a sucker for those.

This obviously got nothing to do with poetic/philosophical bullshit, he just thinks it'll look cool as fuck. And even though he doesn't have a boyfriend (yet!) he'll have one someday, and feeling someone sucking on his nipple with the piercing there tugging and pulling, sending the sweetest electrical tingles all the way down to his toes will just blow his mind so that's a must!

Thing is, Loki is seventeen. Needs written consent. Yeah, that's never gonna happen. His dad will  kill him and no one's gonna want to pierce a dead boy's nipple, even as a last request kinda thing. So just…no.

That's where Thor comes in. Thor's eighteen. They go to the same school and Thor's older brother Balder is a piercer.

Okay, some stuff you need to know about Thor: he's hot, he's popular, and is always in need of money for weed.

And maybe, just _maybe_ , Loki's been crushing on him for the past year or so. Cause Thor's fucking ripped. Cause Thor loves to surf (not that Loki stalked him all the way to the beach early one morning to see this beautiful golden-haired god in action or something cause of course not!). Cause he knows how to rock a man bun. And the most important one of all: cause his face is _PERFECTION._

So how awkward was it, walking up to him and going: "hey man, can you pierce my nipple?"

Uh, very!

See, Balder would never do it (cause minors!) but Thor's been known for borrowing some of Balder's piercing stuff and piercing fellow students for a bit of cash.

That's how it happened.

Thor was smoking out behind the bleachers. _NIN's This Isn't the Place_ was playing on his phone. Loki just walked over there and blurted out the question as fast as he could and afterwards just stood there embarrassed as fuck, hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his dark grey skinny jeans.

Thor put his Ray Bans on his hair and looked him over. The heels of his majestic boots looked like smeared stardust.

His eyes lingered on Loki's chest and Loki was freaking out inside cause were his nipples sticking out or what.

And before he got a chance to say to himself that it doesn't even matter, cause if Thor says yes to this he'll be seeing and touching (omg touching!) Loki's nipples very soon, like the next fucking day or something, Thor moved his head in the direction of a shadowy corner and said: "let's have a look."

Uh, hello.

Loki wasn't expecting _that_.

Thor put his phone in his pocket, led the way. The music kept playing and Loki followed him without saying a word cause it's hard being a smartass with your heart blocking your airway.

Thor was fucking girls. Thor was fucking boys too. And standing there out of the sun waiting for Loki to pull his shirt up, Thor's eyes were alert, and Loki thought he looked interested.

This soft dreamy beat coming from Thor's phone sounded like a sweet LSD trip and Loki felt dizzy. He was holding his shirt tucked under his chin, watching the dynamic rise and fall of Thor's chest, the electric gold hairs on his forearms, the gentle flutter of his long thick lashes.

Thor took a drag on his cigarette, "both, or…?"

"No. Uh-" gah the mystery of your mouth getting all dry just when you don't want it to happen, "just the one."

Thor blew out the smoke and it looked blue, "which one?"

Duh, Loki! You've got two, the right one and the-

"Left one."

Thor just gave him a long, simple nod, and squinted a bit, "forty bucks."

Loki tugged his shirt down slowly, nipples now out of sight, but the tips of his ears felt like they were on fire, "where-"

"My place. Be there tomorrow at four."

And there he is now, sitting outside Thor's apartment, cross-legged on the floor, smoking. It's his third cigarette cause _there's someone in there_ , and did Thor forget all about Loki and his rebellious left nipple?

Thor lives on the third floor of this really old building. It smells like dreams came there to die and there's dust in the air and no light in the stairway and this old guy is hacking his lungs out on the fourth floor, and Loki's ass is freezing in his super thin skinny jeans.

Did he make an effort to look pretty for Thor today? Yep, he did!

The Odinson' boys dad dropped dead over a year ago. Drank himself to-you know how this one goes. Balder's been taking care of his baby brother ever since. He's got some house rules though, like _no to doing crack cocaine cause it's too good you'll end up losing your way in life just so you can get more of it_ , _no to drinking so much that you can't find your way to school_ , and his favorite one: _see some sexy gals? Don't be an asshole, tell 'em about your big bro Balder, ask 'em if they're looking for a ride, tell them they're in for the time of their lives._

Loki wishes his dad will drop dead too someday. He hates the fucking asshole and his prehistoric opinions about everything.

Whoa there, footsteps!

Loki jumps to his feet, flicks the cigarette over the railing into the semi-darkness below.

The door opens.

A guy walks out. He's got this Jokers kinda mouth. Beady eyes. Gives Loki a look like what the fuck are you doing here, and rushes past him all cool, baggy jeans and brand new sneakers.

And there's Thor, motioning Loki in.

Hello there messy man bun, I've missed you!

Thor's wearing this black cut off shirt, and Loki almost chokes on his own saliva when he notices it's slit all the way down the middle so Loki can see pectorals and abs and his heart does this summersault and it feels great.

He's got a silver chain with a razor pendant, dangling from his sexy neck, catching the light. And holy fuck that massive muscular chest. Loki has seen him without a shirt on but it's always been from a distance (creepy stalking sessions at the beach _ta-da_!), never from so up close and Loki looks away fast cause Thor will spot him staring and-

"Coming or what?"

Oh god, please stop.

"Uh, yeah!"

Thor's leading the way down this tiny corridor. He's chewing some gum. Raspberry. It smells divine.

Say something you idiot!

"I keep thinking I should be making like small talk or something," Loki says and it sounds so lame.

Thor turns to look at him, brows raised (amused or bored? Kinda hard to tell with those eyes) and pops his gum.

Loki shifts his eyes sideways, "but then I remember you've seen my nipples yesterday and it's like, where do you go from here you know?"

Thor's lip twitches.

Yep, definitely amused.

"And I'm gonna see 'em again today," Thor says, stating the obvious with a light tone of voice, and Loki probes the roof of his mouth with his tongue cause fuck that's true.

"So there's no point in talking about like school or stuff, huh?"

"You won't feel like talking about school with a long-ass needle going through your nip, trust me."

The word nip makes Loki smile and Thor's smile grows bigger.

"Bal loves calling 'em pokies. Like, wanna get those pokies pierced."

You know what, fuck this, having this conversation with this stunning blonde god is fucking surreal and Loki feels like he's about to have a nervous breakdown.

"Pokies sounds horrible."

"Mipples is the worst," Thor says.

And hey, it's small talk after all! Weird and twisted yeah, but small talk nonetheless.

Couple of things Loki's heard about Thor:

_Thor is a stuck-up asshole._

_Thor is a stuck-up asshole._

_Thor is a stuck-up asshole._

Is he? Not really. He is a tease though, there's no ignoring that.

"This way."

They're in Thor's bedroom. Tons of DJs posters from all over the world on the walls, a green electric guitar in the corner there, a tablet tossed onto the carpet, and hello surfboard standing right next to the window, looking sleek and glorious.

Play dumb.

"You surf?" Loki asks.

Thor turns to look at him, drums on his thigh, stares at him for a couple of seconds.

"Yeah," he says finally, "you?"

" _Ha._ "

Thor looks him over.

"You look flexible."

Why, thank you. I can put my legs on your shoulders easy and arch my back 'till it fucking hurts when you-

Loki stops himself there cause getting a hard on at this guy's house is going to kill him.

"You got anyone else coming over today?" Loki asks, suddenly really self-aware, and he really shouldn't be cause he still has his shirt on but hey, shit happens.

Loki sits on the edge of the bed, eyes the open door.

Thor walks over to him with a small plastic box in his hand.

"Nah, just you," Thor says and Loki watches the split fabric of his shirt moving with each of his confident steps towards  Loki.

And his heart is in his throat cause he wanted to get this done for so long and now it's gonna happen and he's kinda-

"Nervous?"

Thor had stopped right next to him and now Loki's at eye-level with his crotch, dark jeans, brown belt with this skull-shaped golden buckle.

Loki can see right into the box Thor's holding and spots this crazy long needle in there wrapped in plastic. A bunch of barbells and rings for Loki to choose from.

Should he play it cool or…?

"No," Loki shrugs, "it's not that big of a deal."

Thor watches him carefully, smiling a bit, "you do that a lot?"

"Do what?"

"Lie."

Loki looks up at him, "hey, now. You don't even know me, you can't just-"

"I see right through you," Thor says, "and I see _you_ as well. Not that hard to spot you squatting behind those rocks at 6 AM, watching me on the board. _Do you surf?_ You know I do. Get on the bed."

Loki watches him with his mouth open cause hello there sexy short command, but scoots back anyways, until he's close to the headboard, all the way going _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ in his head.

"We're overly sure of ourselves, aren't we? Who says I was watching _you_?"

"Lie down."

Loki's leaning back on his palms and his heart is going so fast it feels like his entire body is shaking with it.

"See, you don't have anything to say to that," Loki says, and Thor pulls a chair close to the bed, sits down and gives him this look like we both know the truth here stop bullshitting me.

Loki leans back against the headboards and Thor hands him the box.

Loki rummages through it. He spots this nipple ring with a pair of bunny ears at the top, another that's shaped like a flower, one sun-shaped and sparkly,  and this one that's just a really simple silver hoop.

Loki never wanted a ring though, so he inspects the barbells closely. There are a lot to choose from. One says _suck me_ , another one is shaped like a dagger, one has a pair of lips on it, more flowers and hearts. 

There's this one with two silver hearts, one at each side of the thin bar. 

Should he go for this one?

Trying to focus on choosing one is hard because he keeps thinking that Thor spotted him at the beach stalking him, and still agreed to do this piercing for him and he's in Thor's house, sitting in Thor's bed and Thor's watching him intently-

Loki picks the hearts barbell. Thor takes it from him and puts it on the bedside table next to this dog-eared surfing magazine.

There's all this neutral light coming in through the window and Loki puts the box on the bed and everything just rolls around all over the place inside it and the noise sounds nice.

Loki closes his eyes, listens to Thor rummaging through the box, and he can hear Thor breathing and it feels good.

C'mon Loki don't freeze up. It's just a piercing. It's just this guy you really like.

When he opens his eyes, Thor's watching him with this really amused smile and Loki's not sure if he feels like kissing him or slapping him-hey, maybe both. That's what BDSM's for.

"You walked in here all cool and stuff," Thor says and pulls out some antiseptic and a few fluffy cotton balls, "getting cold feet?"

Loki raises his brows at him, "if I'll say no will you call me a liar again?"

"Didn't like that one, huh?"

Didn't like you seeing right through me is more like it, cause if you can see that you can see all the rest and with you spotting me at the beach being a lovesick stalker I'm gonna be embarrassed enough for the rest of my life, thank you.

Loki shrugs and his brain is like _what the fuck are you doing, you're in his fucking bed, try turning him on or something, you might get lucky_. But he's nervous and it's kinda hard trying to act all cool with all that adrenaline rushing through you.

"If you're struggling with the shirt part just-" Thor gives him a light one-shouldered shrug, "flash me like a cheerleader."

"I've never seen a cheerleader flash anyone."

"That's cause you're not on the football team."

Figures.

Alright, you cocky bastard.

"You mean like this?"

He'd just flashed Thor with this smug expression on his face and he's so regretting this later.

Thor blinks like whoa didn't know you had that in 'ya, "that's kinda it, yeah."

Loki pulls the shirt over his head.

Thor flashes him a smile, "there we go."

Loki slides forward and lies down and shit the feeling of Thor's cool sheets touching his spine and the backs of his arms gets his nipples hard. And feeling Thor's warm gaze moving down his body, brings on a hard on and there's no point in trying to hide it, cause there's no way Thor can't see it, he sees right through him, right?

Thor moves the chair closer. He smells amazing and Loki breathes all that sweet strawberry scent right in.

Thor's soaking a cotton ball in some bright purple antiseptic, "you said left one, right?"

Loki's voice sounds so small and he hates it, "yeah."

"Yeah," Thor echoes, puts the antiseptic bottle away, "you want it vertical, horizontal?"

"Horizontal."

Thor presses his palm to Loki's chest and his hand is so huge and warm, and keeping still and not pressing into his touch is hard.

Thor moves the soaked cotton ball over and around Loki's nipple and the cold and the softness and the occasional graze of Thor's short fingernails make Loki bite the inside of his cheek and fist his hands in Thor's sheets.

Thor's eyes flip up to his and they look hungry, and the razor pendant dangles slowly above Loki's face, catching the light.

Thor looks down, gives Loki's nipple two more swipes before tossing the cotton ball away, "you doing this for someone?"

_Holy fuck, is Thor trying to find out if Loki's seeing someone?_

Loki licks his lips, "why you wanna know?"

Thor tears the plastic off the needle and ignores Loki's question, "should have went with the _suck me_ barbell."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Cause I know that's what you want."

Loki looks up at him because the way Thor said it it's like I know what you want and I can give it to you.

And it's such a sweet feeling, his heart racing so hard it hurts, and that lovely tightening in his belly, and Loki breathes out, "know someone who'll do that for me?"

Thor quirks an eyebrow at him, "maybe."

A wink.

A FUCKING WINK.

Loki licks his lips cause they're so dry it stings, and did Thor just hint at some nipple sucking later on or is Loki losing his mind?

Thor snaps a pair of latex gloves on .

"Why?"

"You crushing on me kinda turns me on, not gonna lie," Thor says and adds with a wicked smile, "and you look like you'd be a good fuck."

Loki's breath hitches in his throat.

"So do 'ya?" Thor asks and adds after a meaningful pause, "want my mouth on you?"

Uh, duh!

Thor keeps their eyes locked together for a few secs, then leans over Loki and bends his head.

He licks a circle around Loki's right nipple. He takes it in his mouth and sucks on it. Loki arches his back and cranes his neck backwards and _holyshitholyshit_ that's not real, it can't fucking be, _itcan'tbeitcan'tbe_ -

Then Thor pulls his head back and looks at Loki from under his long blonde lashes and he's got this playful smirk on and his breath is gusting over Loki's nipple, hot and toe-curling.

"Seeing someone?" he asks and Loki lets out a shaky breath and shakes his head cause talking seems impossible at the moment.

Thor tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and his smile grows bigger, white and lovely, "cool."

He tugs on Loki's nipple with his teeth and Loki feels his eyes rolling in the back of his head, then fluttering shut, and he's got a death's grip on Thor's sheets and this is THE BEST DAY EVER.

Thor pulls away and runs his gloved thumb over Loki's left nipple and Loki bites his upper lip.

"Hyper sensitive, baby?" Thor sounds amused and turned on and Loki arches his hips a bit off the bed when Thor holds his nipple between his thumb and forefinger so he can see where the needle needs to go.

Thor tuts, "hey there. Am I going to have to hold you down?"

Loki opens his eyes and his pupils are blown out, "if you keep this up then yeah."

Thor chuckles all haughty and _hey there stuck-up asshole I see 'ya and you're fucking hot._

There's Thor's forearm across Loki's chest cause leaning in is easier, and the crazy long needle in his hand catches the light.

"You ready for this?" Thor asks.

"Yeah," Loki blinks at him all soft, "I've been waiting to get this done forever."

"Why the left one though?" Thor moves the needle between his fingers and thinks about this for a bit, "is this cause that's where the heart it?"

Loki's eyes widen a bit. He hadn't told anyone about it, how does Thor know about this?

"Yeah," he admits quietly.

Thor smiles, adorable crow's feet, "hey, you didn't lie."

"That's a first for me."

Thor takes a breath in, steadies himself, "maybe it's better if you don't look. I've had people faint from this."

Loki throws his head back against the pillows.

The heaviness of Thor's forearm on his chest feels good and the feel of the rough latex on his nipple is everything, and Loki looks up at the ceiling.

He feels the tip of the needle probing his sensitive flesh and it feels so fucking cold.

Loki moves his gaze over the room.

This DJ looks back at him from behind his turntables, blue lights flashing everywhere.

Whoa, there it is.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut cause it feels like this speeding train is going through his flesh and it HURTS.

He can feel the needle moving and there are all these tugging and pulling sensations that just leave him breathless cause it feels like someone's probing an open wound-

"Almost done."

Loki breathes out slowly and when he looks at Thor their eyes meet and Thor's like you're doing great, and he's so sexy it's worth the pain.

Loki watches Thor taking the needle out and sliding the barbell in, and it feels intimate in a way.

Thor looks so hot with his concentrated look on, and this, along with the feeling of Thor's fingertips touching him, manages to take his mind off how much it stings, cause those were Thor's lips on his nipple just a few minutes ago, and Thor telling him he looks like a good fuck, and Loki wants to pinch himself to make sure it's not just some crazy wet dream he's having. But then the titanium barbell touches a nerve and the pain makes him hiss, and it's gotta be real, right?

Thor screws the little hearts on, smiles at Loki triumphantly, "told 'ya you won't be feeling like making small talk."

"You did."

Loki looks down at the piercing and it looks beautiful, these two hearts joint together by this silver bar.

"All done," Thor beams, "I love my brother and all, but he ain't got skillz. I'm awesome at this though."

"Very modest too."

Thor smirks at him.

Loki just feels like slapping him again cause _gorgeous_ , but add a kiss later to ease the sting of it.

His smile is so intoxicating; it takes Loki a while to remember the money thing.

"Oh shit. I forgot to pay you," he says, lifts his hips off the bed so he can pull those forty bucks out of his pocket.

Loki sits up, takes the money out, and he's trying to make the bills look better cause they look like someone just walked all over them.

Thor leans forward, forearms resting on strong thighs, and Loki looks at him all like _you're getting close again I can't take it._

Thor smirks and he's fucking beautiful.

"You can pay me with sex if you wanna."

_Oh god, yes._

 


	13. in your dreams, sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Photographer!thor, Model!loki.

Photographer!thor, Model!loki. Kind of the second in my photographer Thor series, the first one being a heart and a pair of boots.

 

“Why not just go with fishnet?”

Thor looks up. He’s kneeling between Loki’s legs, cutting holes in the white tee Loki is wearing. Thor’s left hand is under the shirt while the right one is working the scissors.

Over Thor’s shoulder there’s the professional camera he’ll be using to take the pics. It’s on the table right next to Thor’s giant to go coffee cup and his car keys.

Thor looks at Loki for a moment and his eyes just devour him. And Loki thinks having someone look at you like that literally gives you the best high ever.

Thor looks down at the thin fabric, shifts his weight in his shoes.

He moves his hand higher under Loki’s shirt, reaching for the collar area. The warmth of his palm and Thor’s forearm pressed right to the center of his chest makes Loki arch his back a little and hug Thor’s ribs with his thighs.

Loki squeezes Thor’s chest between his knees and Thor hums, fiddling with the shirt.

Thor picks a spot close to Loki’s left shoulder, pulls the fabric away from Loki’s skin and cuts a hole there.

The hushed sound of ripping fabric in Loki’s ears and the spicy scent of Thor’s cologne filling his nose, warming the blood in his veins.

“Don’t have any of them fishnet shirts,” he replies.

Loki leans back on his palms, keeping his legs pressed to Thor’s sides.

He flips his hair over his right shoulder, teases, “I don’t believe you.”

Thor smirks, slides the silver blades of the scissors into the slash he’d just made, snips, makes it wider, and hello left clavicle.

“No?”

They’ve just met in a bar about an hour ago, and now Loki’s sitting on an empty wine box in this guy’s apartment about to pose for some pics and the moon is shining out there and the night is theirs. 

Loki shakes his head slowly, left eyebrow arched, “I think you just wanna touch me.”

Thor moves his giant palm over Loki’s chest, then closes his fingers gently around Loki’s throat, hand still under the collar.

“Yeah?” he smiles up at Loki all crooked, swiping a thumb just under Loki’s jaw, “where’d you get that idea from?”

Loki plays along, “makes you wonder, doesn’t it.”

Thor’s smile grows bigger, “love this mouth of yours.”

“Love your hands,” Loki says.

Definitely not just the hands.

Thor chuckles. He’s full of himself but he’s fucking hot.

He slides his palm back down from the hollow of Loki’s throat to the center of his chest. He cuts another hole there, puts the scissors away.

Loki watches him with parted lips as Thor slides his fingers in, grips the fabric in both fists and tugs hard. The fabric rips so easy, leaving a grinning slash the size of a pocket knife behind.

Loki is impressed and fucking turned on.

He bites his lips and pokes Thor’s side with the heel of his boot.

“Be gentle with me?” he asks all innocent but his eyes betray him.

Thor grins, “in your dreams, sweetheart.”


	14. our horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prostitute!Loki/Pimp!Thor.

“Hey, what’s this?”

With the tip of his forefinger in his mouth, Loki looks up at the older man that’s straddling his hips. When they met at the restaurant earlier he told Loki his name but Loki forgot it. He never remembers the names of his clients cause what’s the point? Feels like it had an M in it somewhere.

Loki doesn’t care about names anyways. He cares about money, and this grey-haired man is loaded. This dude’s fucking driver took them back to the tiny hotel Loki requested in a car that looked like someone lifted it off some commercial on TV. He’s wearing a gold Rolex, too. Smells like diamond powder and fancy fabrics.

“What’s what?”

“This,” the man says.

Loki follows his gaze, moving his face to the right on the floral pillow.

The man has Loki’s arm pinned above his head, bony knuckles pressed to the pillows. He did that and noticed Loki’s tattoo.

Loki blinks, follows the finger that moves down the inner part of his arm. From wrist to elbow, it traces the simple single line of black ink there.

Loki flexes his fingers. Shift his weight on the bed.

There’s a pool out there. It’s the middle of the day. It’s really warm out and the water is not moving.

Loki tucks a strand of hair behind his ear with his free hand.

“That,” Loki says, moving his eyes slow and gentle up and down the thin line, “is the horizon.”

“ _The horizon_.”

Loki keeps his ears open. Usually the crazy dude that’s practically living a few doors down keeps the radio playing all day long. Not today. It’s super quiet and Loki feels like he can hear the rays of the sun sliding over the banisters and walking across the pool.

“Yeah.”

Loki still has his pants on. He wants to keep it that way.

His shirt is somewhere on the floor. The man’s red tie brushes against his right side as he leans over Loki to take a closer look at the tattoo.

“It’s a vertical line.”

Loki probes the roof of his mouth with his tongue, “you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

“Ah.”

He moves Loki’s arm a little bit to the side. It’s diagonal now, but he gets it.

He puts his thumb in his mouth and wets it. Rubs the tat with it to see if it comes off.

It doesn’t.

He scowls, “that thing’s real?”

Loki sees the window over the man’s shoulder. A bright blue piece of sky. It looks textured, like fabric.

The man clicks his tongue.

“Such beautiful skin,” he says, “why’d you have to go and get this done? It’s such an ugly thing.”

An engine roars out there, breaking the silence. Loki’s heart flutters in response.

Loki moves his eyes away from the window. He moves his gaze over the man’s face without actually seeing him. It’s tan skin and spring-green eyes, but all Loki sees is miles and miles away from this place, away from this bed.

“Cause I wanna get there,” Loki says.

“Yeah?” the man smirks down at him, moving his giant palm down Loki’s chest, “that’s cute. You wanna go far away. How you gonna do that?”

He arches his hips off the bed a little when the man twists his hand around and slides his fingers under the waistband of Loki’s jeans.

“Get some money,” Loki breathes and throws his head back.

A car door slams shut.

The man looks amused, “ah-ha. I like it.”

Loki sucks his lips in and closes his eyes, the man’s palm burning hot on the inner part of his left thigh.

There’s the _cling-clang_ coming from the stairs outside now, metallic, and getting closer.

Footsteps. Large shoulders swaying inside a leather jacket.

“Such a shame though,” the man says, heavy body pressing Loki down onto the bed, “going all alone.”

A sweet, hushed whisper of fabric.

Light-red curtains standing still cause there’s no wind. Pale yellow walls and this light bulb fixture looking like a cat’s claw. Copper colored lips hovering above Loki’s mouth.

The door opens, letting all this sunshine in.

Thor walks in. He’s got his car keys in one hand and a crowbar in the other.

The man looks at him like what the fuck and kinda freezes when he spots all those fucking muscles and that giant crowbar catching the light.

Thor moves his eyes from one to the other, catching up.

He looks at Loki, “the horizon thing again?”

Loki shrugs a bit and shifts his weight under the man’s body, “he asked.”

Thor points to the door, “heard the _going all alone_ thing.”

Then to the man, “he’s not going alone, he’s got me. Now wallet and watch, c'mon. And-”

He points the bar at the man’s hand that’s still inside Loki’s jeans, “get your hand outta there before you fucking lose it.”

Thor’s kinda been Loki’s pimp for a year now. Hooks Loki up with rich guys, lets ‘em touch him for a bit then walks in and takes all they have on 'em before they get a chance to undo this sweetheart’s belt. Cause Loki is his. No one else gets to fuck him.

Later in the car, Thor puts the man’s Rolex on. Kisses Loki’s face off in the sun, then leaves a horizontal trail of hot kisses all over Loki’s horizon tat.

“We’ll get there, sweetheart,” he says, “I fucking promise.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Ocean Exhales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524119) by [writernotwaiting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writernotwaiting/pseuds/writernotwaiting)




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